Shin Guard
by Readwriteedit
Summary: "I can't believe I'm doing this. I CANNOT BELIEVE that I am doing this." Apparently a weakness for hockey players runs in the family. Or maybe it's just a weakness for shin guards... T for catcalls. CH 5 & 6 up! (Note: I don't own anything.)
1. Chapter 1

_Note: This is not a Skyeffrey story. It's a view into-what I consider-Skye's love life before Skyeffrey wins out. No, I have not gone mad, I'm just trying to mix things up a bit... :-)_

* * *

_I can't believe I'm doing this,_ rang the voice inside her head, even as she stared at the plastic in her hand._ I CANNOT BELIEVE that I am doing this!_ _UGH!_

* * *

_One week earlier… _

* * *

She was late. Again.

Living in the city for the first time in her life—even if it was only a smallish city like Boston—had messed up her entire time table. Who knew traffic could occupy an entire 2-hour time slot?!

And so, when she finally gave up on the taxi, and decided to get out and walk the remaining mile in the sub-zero frigidness, the last thing she was in the mood for was harassment.

And when harassment came in the form of 30 guys whistling as she scurried by, it was enough to stop her in her tracks, ready for battle.

"Hey, girl. Whatsup?" commented a particularly forward blonde member of the cat-call-colony.

Skye just stood there, glaring.

"Yeah, what's a hot chick like you doing all alone on the icy streets of Boston?"

"Apparently being ogled at." Those would have been the first words out of her mouth, and—for a second—she wondered if her voice had suddenly deepened by several octaves, before turning around and realizing that someone else had said them first.

The intruder flashed an apologetic smile at her, before turning back to the mob. "Back off, guys. Seriously. Or I'll tell Cynthia."

Whoever Cynthia was, Skye was immensely grateful to her at the moment, because apparently just the mention of her name was enough to call off the dogs, who—quite reluctantly—left.

"Thanks." She grumbled reluctantly to her "rescuer," before turning to walk off.

When his remark, "You don't sound very thankful," followed after her, she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Yeah, well, I'm not a huge fan of the 'Sir Gallahad' bit."

"Sir Gallahad, nothing. It just looked to me like you were about kill them, and I reserved the right to commit that crime years ago."

"Oh, really?" For the first time, she spared him more than a passing glance, and hated herself wishing that she had done so earlier. He was very…aesthetically pleasing. Very.

"Yeah. That's just part of being a team, right?" She couldn't help but grin back. Oh, how mad she had been when she found out that both her_ and Melissa_ were on the varsity team.

"Yeah, seriously. What team do you play for?" She didn't even care that she was late for her anthropology class anymore. This was far more interesting.

"Boston College."

"Ah, the Eagles."

"You know us?"

"Not really. I went to one of your games last year."

"Which one?"

"The one where you got royally beaten: Five to nothing, I think it was."

"Ah. That one." He grimaced, and she couldn't help but laugh a bit. "You should come to another. We're usually much better."

"Maybe I will."

"I'm Matt, by the way."

"I'm Skye." And glancing up a the clock tower which had just begun to announce the time, she added: "And I'm terribly late. I really should run. Thanks, by the way."

"I'll run with you. I'm not in a big hurry to be interrogated about you."

"Are you sure?"

"About being interrogated? Yeah, I'm sure."

"No, about running with me."

"Yeah, I'm pretty darn sure about that, too."

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

_For more stories, click on "Readwriteedit."_


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm telling you, Jane, he ran me to class, said it was nice meeting me, asked me to consider coming to another game to see how they really play, and then left and I haven't heard a word from him since."

She was beginning to regret telling her sister about the incident in the first place. She had learned long ago that she and Jane had very different reactions to guys. Especially...um, good looking...ones.

"Ugh. How lame is that?!"

"It's not lame at all. I didn't give him my contact info."

"You what?!"

"Believe it or not, Jane, I'm not in the habit of pushing my phone number on guys. He didn't ask, and even if he had, I wouldn't have given it to him. We'd only met 10 minutes earlier, and I don't even know his last name!"

"Skye!" Her sister sounded completely and utter fed up, and Skye couldn't blame her: she was feeling the same way. "A hot guy literally saves you, and then escorts you to class, and you don't even take a step to initiate further contact! How can I possibly be related to you?!"

"I'm wondering the same thing. You didn't even see him! How can you know he's hot?!"

"Ah, ha! So he is hot?"

"I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"You did, too. You asked me how I could _know_ that he's hot. That's as good as admitting it."

"Ridiculous."

"Is he?"

"What?"

"Hot!"

There was a pause, before: "Look, Jane, I'm going to hang up in the 10 seconds. Just thought you might like the warning."

"Okay, look. The solution is very simple. All you have to do is go to one of their games. You could bring a banner or a sign or something, and he could see that you're there, and then-"

"Jane, listen to me, and listen well, because we're never having this conversation again. There is no way I am EVER going to go to an Eagles game. Now, goodbye."

* * *

_Two days later..._

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know..."

"Jeffrey, you seriously need to find some energy, get up off the floor, and stop moping."

"I'm not moping."

"You are too moping. You've turned into a boneless sack of flesh because your girlfriend left you and as a result you and I are spending a perfectly good Saturday doing nothing. It's pitiful."

"She didn't leave me. And I'm not moping."

"No, you're right. She didn't leave you. She's just out of town for the weekend! So stop acting like you have nothing to live for and let's DO something, for once!"

"What do you want to do?"

"Oh, I don't know..."

"People in glass houses, Skye..."

"How 'bout we go to a game?"

"That could be fun. I think the Red Socks are playing."

"Um, I was thinking more along the lines of maybe, you know, hockey?"

"The Bruins?"

"Yeah, not quite. How do you feel about the Eagles?"

**(To be continued.)**

* * *

_First off, sorry for the long wait. I'll keep the excuses short: midterms. (And a backpacking trip…) Two corrected mistakes to note in Chapter One: (1) Boston College, instead of Boston University. (Thanks, PUCKABRINALOVER.); (2) I just realized that I already used the name Ian in _Via Telephone_, so Ian (hockey Ian) is now Matt. Sorry for any confusion on that front. Thanks for hanging in there, guys. Really appreciate it. _


	3. Chapter 3

"Is she here?"

Matt tore his eyes away from the stands to look at guy who had skated up next to him.

"Is who here, Ryan?"

"That blonde."

"Which blonde? There's a lot of blondes out there. Mainly bleached, but still..."

"Come on, Matt. You know exactly who I'm talking about. Your head hasn't been in the game ever since you met that Skye girl."

"My head is always in the game."

"Really, because it looked like you were in the clouds there a minute ago."

"Yeah, well, the game hasn't started yet. My head can be wherever it likes during the warm-up..."

Ryan landed a short check to his shoulder, light enough not to cause any damage, but still plenty to get the point across.

"Come on, man, forget about her for the next two hours. Then you can go right back to swooning. She'll come if she wants to, but she's no reason to loose a game."

* * *

"So..." Jeffery took the nachos she handed him and smiled mischievously. "Which one of these guys are we here to see?"

"What?" She almost dropped her root beer on him. He couldn't possibly know. She hadn't even admitted it to herself yet. "We're here to watch the game, not any one guy in particular."

"If it was just me here, that would be true. You, however, are definitely here to see someone..."

"Don't be silly."

"Skye, you don't even _like_ hockey!"

"Of course I like hockey... Tommy always took me to the Bruins' games with him, since Rosy never wanted to go."

"I always thought you just did that to push Rosy's buttons."

"Well, maybe a little, but that wasn't the only reason. It's a fun sport, now shut up and watch."

"Ah, ha! You _are_ here to see someone."

"What?"

"They aren't even doing anything yet, just skating around, and you want to watch them."

She punched him in the shoulder. "Shut up."

"Come on, what's his name?"

It crossed her mind to purposefully pour her root beer on him this time; he was enjoying this just a little _too_ much.

She sighed, before finally relenting. If she couldn't tell Jeffrey, who could she tell?! "Matt."

"Matt, what?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?!" He chuckled. "Talk about poor planning. Do you know his number?"

"Nope."

"Do you know anything about him?"

"Um... He's tall?"

"And so is every single one of the guys on that ice, Skye." He shook his head. "You know, sometimes I think you do this on purpose. Some part of you must realize that you can never truly have a crush on a someone if you know nothing about them."

She laughed. "Well, you'll never know, will you?"

* * *

"Found him!"

"How could you have found him? You haven't even been watching the game, Jeffrey!"

"No, I've been trying to find the team roster."

"Oh. Any luck?"

"Yeah, actually. There're two Matts, but you said he was tall, right?"

"Yeah. A good few inches taller than me."

"So what, 6'1'', 6'2''?"

"Yeah, about that..."

"Well, then, I have your fella."

"He's not my anything."

He chucked. "I just spent the last 30 minutes stalking this guy. He's your something!"

"So, back to the point, what's his last name?"

"Matthew Payton. 6'2'', 160 lbs. #11, forward."

"Good to know..."

"Are you out of your mind, Jeffrey?!"

"No. Not at all. Now come on."

"There is no way on Earth I am going down there to talk to him!"

"They just won the game, Skye. Go congratulate him!"

"Nuh, un."

He stared at the girl he had known for nearly a decade in disbelief. "You can't even talk! I've never seen you this nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

"Then go talk to him."

"No."

"Come on, Skye. Are you a mouse or are you a man?"

"That's my line."

"Then live by it. Come on, I dare you."

Flashing him a withering glare, she sauntered down the stairs. This was going to be a disaster.

* * *

Though she would never admit to a living soul, the sight of him standing there in his skates, with his helmet dangling off the end of his stick, talking to a little old woman about the importance of holding the hand rail made her heart pick up a little bit.

Sorely tempted to turn around and run, she glanced over her shoulder, on to find that Jeffrey was standing right there. Darn it. Now she had no choice but to go through with this. He had dared her, and far be it from her nature to ever back away from a dare.

"Matt?"

Little old woman forgotten for the moment, he turned around and grinned when he saw her.

"Skye! You came!" And then his eyes landed on Jeffrey, and she could have sworn his expression dimmed a little. "...and you brought a date..."

There was something in his tone that made her blush a bit, and hurry to correct him. This was no time for mistaken identities.

"No, not a date."

At this point, Jeffrey laughed. "More like a guard dog. I've made at least a dozen promises to her family members to not let her get into trouble. But you guys seem like you're okay, so I'm going to help this lovely lady get to her car safely."

Holding out an arm for the older woman-who looked inches away from swooning-he winked at Skye. "Give me a ring when you get home, okay?"

"You're not leaving?!" Something akin to panic rose in her voice, but he just smiled.

"Have fun!"

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

_Again, sorry for the long wait. Thanks, _riderwritergirl_ for the feedback. We'll hopefully see more of Matt in the next chapter, since Jeffrey just left Skye in his care… :-) _


	4. Chapter 4

Lasers have come a long way in the last few decades. Unfortunately for the aims of Skye Penderwick, laser vision has yet to be put to use. But Jeffrey's back was out of sight before she could burn a hole through it anyways, so instead she was forced to implement standard eye-roll procedure and turn back to the topic at hand: Matt Payton.

"Um, does he do that a lot?" He was smiling down at her from a towering height looking somewhat concerned and very amused. "Because that doesn't seem like proper protocol for a guard dog…"

Caught up in the ridiculousness of the entire situation, it took her a moment to catch on. "Oh, you mean Jeffrey? Yeah, he's usually pretty reliable but every once in a while he'll get in this matchmaking mood and scurry off and leave me in stranded. It's manageable."

"I'm glad to hear that." Apparently tired from his effort of trying to hold back his amusement, he flashed her a grin that made every practical bone in her body scream that it was time to retreat.

"Uh, yeah. Hey, l'm sorry to have held you up. I just wanted to congratulate you on the great game. I'm going to go call a taxi now."

She got about three quarters of the way turned around before he stopped her.

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Um," he winced slightly, "I mean, since you're here and all, why don't I just give you a ride?"

There was a pause, while he seemed to process his words, and then he hurried to cover his tracks.

"I mean, that is, if you're okay with that. I didn't mean to imply that you're the sort of girl who gets lifts from random guys, and I certainly didn't mean to come across as—"

Deciding that now was not that time for a string of apologies, she finally gave into the large part of her that was screaming "YES!" and interrupted him.

"Actually, that would be great, if you don't mind. Not that I _am_ a fan of random lifts from random guys, but you seem fairly trustworthy, and I carry a taser and apparently no taxi money, so why not?"

"Really?" He looked like he couldn't quite believe his ears.

"Um, yeah. Thanks for the offer."

"Sure thing." Gesturing down at his jersey he continued, "Let me just go clean up a bit, and then we can go."

The reminder of a locker room brought back Skye's practical side for a moment. "Oh, wait a minute! You just a won a big game: don't you have to celebrate with your team, or something?"

"Eh, I'll make it next time."

"They won't miss their captain?" she asked, again, casting a meaningful glance at the big, white "C" sewn onto his jersey.

"I think they'll forgive me this one time. I'll meet you back here in ten minutes, okay?"

"Okay…"

* * *

Eight minutes later, after Skye had spent 30 seconds finding a seat and seven and a half minutes angrily texting an unresponsive Jeffrey, he appeared again, showered, dressed, and attempting to shove a tie into his jacket pocket.

"Wow. A suit…" She glanced down at her jeans and sweatshirt. "I feel slightly underdressed."

He smiled. "No, you look perfect. I came straight from work to the game, so this was the only clothing option I had available."

"Where exactly do you work that requires a suit? City hall?"

"No, not quite. I actually work at Wellesly Bank on Federal Street."

"Really? I didn't know they hired college hockey players to work at banks."

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly your average college hockey player. And besides, it's more of a paid internship for my Economics degree. I'm slated to become the fourth generation of Paytons to run the family investment bank on Wall Street, so I figured some practical experience couldn't hurt."

"I knew there was something I liked about you. You're a numbers guy."

"Why? What's your major, numerology?"

"Um, no. I don't even think that exists. I'm working towards an Astrophysics degree."

"Wow. How'd you get into that?"

"It's also a bit of a family thing. My step-mom is the currently on the world's leading team of dark matter researchers, and I guess I just sort of got sucked in from there. I always thought I'd go into Engineering or something before I met her, but I'm thrilled with the way it's turned out."

"I'd definitely say that an Astrophysics degree from MIT is thrilling. Hey, I'm starving. How about grabbing a bite to eat on the way home?"

It took her less than a second of internal wrestling to come up with an answer to that one.

"I'd love to."

* * *

_Not usually a huge fan of excuses, but since it's been 2 months since the last update, I think you guys deserve one. I broke the ring finger on my right hand a week and a half before Thanksgiving, and it's been in a cast for the past six weeks, which made typing practically impossible. I got this up via hunt and peck as soon as I could. Hope it was worth the wait! I'll be a bit more regular from here on out, hopefully... Thanks again for your patience and loyalty._


	5. Chapter 5

The next few days passed in a blur. She thought she'd taken an Astronomic Origins midterm but really all she'd been able to focus on was _him_: his laugh, his conversations, and the way the right side of his mouth quirked up when he glanced at her. He was funny—more importantly, he was _nice—_and in the the total of two hours she had spent in his company he had somehow managed to worm his way under her thick skin and make her blood rush to her cheeks at the thought of him.

She would deny it to her dying day, but the cyclone of emotion that he set off inside of her felt almost nice for a change. Of all the ways to go, she could think of a lot worse . . .

And so, when he showed up at her door on that frigid Thursday night, smiling shying and admitting that he had been hoping she'd be home, she didn't even hesitate before throwing open the door and tugging him over the threshold.

"Come on in; you'll freeze out there."

"Nah, it's a whopping four degrees out. You can live out there for at least eight minutes." He let her take his coat, the red in his cheeks matching hers at the accidental contact. "But if it's all the same to you, I would like to come in."

"Sure thing. Want some hot chocolate or something?" He looked like potential popsicle material, and she couldn't help but feel a little bit flattered that he'd braved such inhumane weather just to come see her.

"That would be great," he admitted, following her into the kitchen, "but I didn't come here just to deplete your hot beverage supply. I wa—I mean, I was wondering if . . ."

"Yes?" she prompted after it became apparent that he was struggling to finish his thought.

"Well, I didn't have your phone number, and so I thought I'd just drop by and ask you."

"Ask me what?"

"If you'd consider going out with me again."

"Sure."

He flashed her a skeptical glance. "Is that a sure, as in 'sure thing,' or a sure as in 'sure, but . . .'?"

"That's a sure as in, 'Sure, I'd love to.' We are we going?"

"Um, I hadn't thought about that . . ."

"Really?"

"Yeah, well, I thought you'd say no . . ." He winced, and then smiled sheepishly. "I promise I'm not usually this much of a bumbler. It's just . . . I mean, there's just something about you that seems to sort of shut my brain off." He saw the look on her face and winced again. "I mean that in the best possible way."

She laughed. "Well, I guess it's time for plan B, then. How about that pizza place we stopped by on Saturday? I'll always go for a place with a ping pong table."

"That's right, you were eyeing that all evening. Do you play?"

She smiled, placing the neglected hot chocolate in the sink and heading towards the front door. "Oh, I rock at ping pong."

* * *

"You weren't joking," was his comment one hour and two pizzas later, once she had destroyed him in a fiercesome—and very quick—game of table tennis. "Where did you learn how to play ping pong like that?"

"Cameron is a pretty small town," she replied, hitting the ball repeatedly off the back of her paddle, "and so there isn't much to do there in the winter. My family has a pass to the local rec center, and I spent most of my high school winters playing ping pong with friends."

She served a bullet-fast ball over the net, smiling in appreciation when he managed to return it. "Also, I'm insanely competitive, so loosing wasn't an option, which left me with only one alternative: get good enough to beat everyone."

"I know that feeling. I'm the youngest of four boys, and so proving myself to them was pretty much my life ambition until the last few years."

He hit yet another ball off the table, and she smiled ruefully. "I take it you guys didn't own a ping pong table, then . . ."

"Definitely not." He cast a foreboding glance at the litany of balls scattering the floor by her feet. "You might want to pick those up, don't you think? I'd hate to see you trip."

She rolled her eyes, disarming his caution with a smile. "I almost never trip. Now stop stalling and let's get this skunking over with."

He managed to return her first two shots fairly well, the third return bouncing off the very corner of the table, alluding her paddle as she lunged for it. The next second she was vaguely aware of her feet slipping out from under her, a feeling of dread settling in before her head hit the table and everything went black.

When the world finally came to focus, swimming in black dots and spots of color, a very worried looking young man with blood on his hand sighed and said, "I thought you said you never tripped."

She promptly blacked out again.

* * *

_Sorry for the long wait, guys. No excuses, unfortunately; just finishing up school. Hopefully I'll be a much better updater this summer. Thanks for sticking with me!_


	6. Chapter 6

She was shaken back into consciousness a few moments later, to find the entire personage of the pizza parlor staring over her. She turned to look at Matt, who was kneeling next to her head, and was greeted with the unpleasant sensation of overwhelming nausea, just barely managing to turn her head before her dinner made a forceful exit.

The crowd shrank back in disgust, commenting on health regulations and cleanliness ratings. She was honestly too busy bleeding and retching to care.

Once her stomach had calmed down, Matt handed her a wad of paper towels. "Hold these to your forehead, okay? You'll be fine, but you'll probably need a couple of stitches." He glanced down at the mess on the floor and winced. "And it looks like you possibly have a concussion."

She could barely make sense of anything at that point. Her head hurt so bad the pain was almost numbing, and she was growing more and more tired by the second, but she could still hear the words he muttered under his breath as he pulled her against his chest, holding the makeshift bandage against her forehead. "Nice going, Payton. Give the girl a concussion on your second date. Real smooth."

The hospital was a bit of an ordeal, but she managed to keep herself from vomiting on anyone was able to convince the doctor that she didn't need to spend the night in the hospital. Matt wasn't so easy persuade.

He looked rather disproving as she checked herself out of the ER, but it wasn't until they were driving back to her place that he voiced his concern.

"You shouldn't spend the night alone tonight."

Despite her pounding headache she couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice as she retorted with a tired, "Trying to move in already, huh?"

The look on his face was a priceless combination of horror and humiliation. "No! I just don't think you should sleep alone tonight."

He was digging himself further into the hole, and maybe it was just the painkillers talking, but she was finding it incredibly funny. "Oh, really? And I suppose you have a solution to that."

"No! It's just that I've had my fair share of concussions and I know that it isn't safe to sleep without waking you up and checking on you every few hours."

He looked so concerned and yet somehow completely resolute that she gave in. "Relax. I'm just teasing."

"I know you are. And I swear I'm not usually this jumpy. But I really like you Skye, and the last thing I want is for you to think I'm trying to move too fast and dump me before I've even had a chance."

"Matt, I don't think it's in you to move too fast. I mean, we've been on two dates now and you haven't even kissed me yet. Besides, we've now been through a life threatening ordeal together, I nearly puked on you, and my blood is all over your car, so I think that counts for some extra credit."

He laughed, easing the car up in front of her townhouse. "Is that your way of giving me permission to kiss you?"

"Do you need permission?"

He seemed to consider it, and then nodded. "Yeah, I don't believe in the whole 'Silence is Concession' thing."

"How's this for a permission slip then?"

She leaned forward and kissed him, whimpering slightly as her bandaged forehead bumped into his, but then pushing forward because, wow, for such a shy guy he certainly knew how to make even an iron-clad girl like her melt into a puddle of molten metal.

He smiled shyly as they finally pulled apart, his fingers brushing against her temple as if in apology. "I really wanted to do that Saturday night, but I wasn't sure you wanted me to."

She blushed slightly, grabbing his hand and weaving his fingers through her own. "I wasn't sure I wanted you to either, then. Tonight's a bit of a different story, though." And then she leaned in again, and the rest of the world—including her pounding head—faded away.


End file.
